Fixated
by deducemeplease
Summary: Laura Grey's sordid life of drugs and danger was left behind years ago, she's kept out of trouble for a long time. So why has she suddenly acquired an anonymous and seemingly psychotic stalker? After a particularly strange turn she resorted to consulting none other than the infamous Sherlock Holmes to help her.
1. Chapter 1

It had been 42 hours since the incident and I'd finally plucked up the courage. I stood outside number 221B Baker Street and glanced up at silver knocker tentatively. 'This is it' I thought, feeling sick with anxiety, I had become the victim of what seemed to be a madman. And I needed serious help before something terrible potentially happened to me and the only person I could rely on was a said sociopath. Great. I knew full well that going to the police would be a futile waste of my time. Before the police did any investigating I could get killed for all I knew. I took a last, long drag of my cigarette; embracing the slight burn of the smoke in my throat before exhaling softly, trying to release some nerves along with the smoke.

After dropping and stamping my cigarette into the pavement, I furtively tapped the knocker three times. It had been a good thirty seconds with no reply or sign of activity from inside; nerves built up again and I began to wonder if I was even doing the right thing by going there. What if this was trivial to him? What if he chose not to help me? Maybe I should just turn back. I took a step back in doubt and just before I was about to reach for the knocker once more, the door swung open.

I was greeted by a somewhat small, quirky looking older woman with a cup of tea in her hand.

"Oh hello dear, how can I help you?" she smiled from behind the door. "Let me guess, looking for our Sherlock, hey?" she added before I could respond.

I nodded, words seemed to have escaped me. There was no turning back now.

"Well come on in, love. Quickly, quickly it's cold out there!"

I stepped inside and she prompted me up a narrow staircase, shouting "Sherlock, you have a lady visitor here to see you!"

The woman opened the door at the top of the stairs without knocking once and ushered me inside.

The tall figure standing at the window turned around to face me. I experienced the blood drain from my face as his piercing, blue eyes caught mine. I was standing face to face with no other than the infamous, almost notorious, Sherlock Holmes.

"...Well?" He enquired, staring at me intently. I was rendered to staring at the ground like a shy seven year old by this point.

"Oh be nice to her, Sherly. She looks a bit peaky don't you think? Here, sit down I'll get you some tea." I thanked her as she steered me into an arm chair.

Sherlock paced around the chair before jumping onto the sofa opposite, I could sense his eyes scoping out every detail of my being.

"I'm being stalked" I revealed, my voice shaking. "I ignored it up until now…But I can't anymore"  
He raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Do elaborate."

"It started with the anonymous internet messages, then the emails and texts, then the notes and photos of me through my letterbox..."

He rolled his eyes, "Was any of this done with malicious intent, any threats made?" I shook my head explaining that none of the messages were threatening, only unnerving. "Don't you think you're overreacting a little? It's clearly child's play, someone who obviously wants to alarm you. And by the looks of it, it's worked, and you clearly look like you haven't slept for at least a good two days."

"That's what I thought too." I tenderly pulled down my jumper and turned around revealing the fresh marks on my back from where I got carved up by the anonymous psychopath. "You're mine" was engraved into my back.

"Oh." whispered Sherlock furrowed his brow. "...Oh." He repeated. "Well, that changes everything. How did this happen? Tell me the whole shebang."

I stared at him blankly, regaining some of my composure, "I have no idea, I think I was drugged. I don't remember anything. I woke up and there it was. Nothing was stolen, there was no sign of anyone coming in, all my doors were locked too."

"Interesting..." He pyramided his fingers and tapped them against his forehead. "So tell me Miss..."  
"Grey, please, call me Laura though."

"Do you know that would want to...hurt you? So to speak? Anyone slightly fixated with you?"

I shook my head, "Not that I know of, I keep myself to myself mostly."

"Absolutely no idea?"

"None at all."

"Oh well, that's superb!" He clapped his hands together and sprung up just as the door swung open violently.

A smaller-framed man stepped inside, holding about three shopping bags.

"John, come and see this." Sherlock said almost excitedly.

The slight framed man scowled a little, placing his shopping on the table, "Sorry. I'm John, John Watson. And you are-?"

"My name's Laura-" He stepped towards me and held his hand out but before I could shake it and properly introduce myself, Sherlock had spun me round and slid down the neckline of my oversized jumper. His hands were chilly against my warm skin around the superficial, yet sore wounds, and his touch sent a small shiver down my back.

"Oh dear god, who did this to you?" Watson exclaimed, leaning in for a closer look.

"Well John, if she knew that I'm rather sure she wouldn't be here asking for my help."

John rolled his eyes. "Looks like we have an advanced stalker on our hands, more like a predator really. Broke into her house, scratched that into her skin and left without a trace. We just need to find out what he wants... Do you think you could go back home tonight and see if anything more happens? I don't have much to go by here."

John turned to look at Sherlock as if he was insane, which he did seem... a little.

"You can't let this girl go back home! Who knows what would happen." John protested with evident concern in his eyes.

Sherlock sighed, "Yes. That's the point, John. We want to see what may happen."

"I'm not letting her back there so long as she's unsafe, Sherlock."  
He exhaled in annoyance and finally said, "Oh whatever, you're no fun." A small smirk played on his lips before he added, "Okay alright, I'll fetch you a blanket. I suppose you can stay with us...So long as you're not too much trouble." Sherlock winked and flashed a grin, before turning on his heels and vanishing into the bedroom; leaving John rubbing his temples exasperatedly.


	2. Chapter 2

Nearly two weeks had passed and for the first time in what was apparently a long time, Sherlock Holmes was stumped. He'd tried tracing IP addresses, testing the letters for DNA, matching handwriting, looking at the phone number, he'd even gone to my apartment and searched it; finding out only one thing. I'd been gassed the night I got assaulted. He'd also acquired some photos taken of me candidly around the city that had apparently been posted through the letterbox, but had no leads on those either.

He claimed there was just not enough evidence, shouting often about how it was impossible that this guy had left no trace anywhere. "We're just going to have to wait until he makes a mistake now." He'd tell me, after he'd calmed down a bit from one of his rants.

During my stay thus far, John Watson had been nothing but sweet to me. He was generous, hospitable and always woke me up with a cup of tea or hot chocolate. Whereas all Sherlock had done was blank my existence (yet I was usually in the same room as him ninety percent of the time), pinpoint my every flaw and eat my food I'd bring back from work. Sometimes, I'd even catch him glaring intently at me when he thought I wasn't looking. Yet why could I not stop thinking about him? There was something about him. I couldn't put my finger on it. Be it is dark, thick curls. His piercing blue eyes that seemed to stare through souls. His soft, pale skin. His pure detachment. The fact he came across as a rude arsehole. A mysterious one at that, I just didn't know. I felt a vibe from him that I hadn't felt in a while for anyone, but again, I tried my best not to let it show. I couldn't risk that. Not at all.

I would rather die than open up to a person I wasn't comfortable with, I am about as closed off as a person gets. A lifetime of hedonism and disappointment really takes its toll; I built walls around me tall and thick. I left that life behind; leaving as me the seemingly plain Jane I appeared to have become. The nights of singing at dive bars and snorting line after line off a mirror, the days of travelling aimlessly, running away from responsibilities- they were gone. I was Laura Grey, a waitress with a scarily tidy apartment and no social life. I played the gormless, average Joe pretty well most of the time, it was easier that way. Nobody saw my quirks or kinks. I kept my head down and myself out of trouble. But oh I should've known, trouble would always find me again.

"Your pajama shorts are rather small...it is the middle of January. I mean, it's obvious you're not warm" He raised his eyebrows at my erect nipples, ever so slightly showing through my white shirt John had lent me.

"Sherlock!" John warned, giving him a look. "Stop it."

He'd obviously noticed me blush slightly and he softened his stance the slightest bit and added "I'll turn the heating up."

Sherlock reappeared five minutes later wearing a tie, pushing a cart with three glasses, a cocktail mixer, a small, metal bucket of ice and a selection of a few spirits and fruit juice on it.

"Well, nothing better than a few good cocktails to keep you warm in the winter."

"Sherlock, it's a Monday." John reminded him.

"Mojito Monday." John flashed him another look. 'If looks could kill' I smiled to myself, observing the two of them. They were quite a pair really.

"...Oh right, okay. I guess none of us have commitments tomorrow."  
"Too right, John. Now, shall we?" Sherlock grinned as he poured out the drinks.

An hour and a half later and three drinking games later, we were all slightly slurring our words and laughing at things that definitely should not be funny.

"Okay okay, I'm going to run to Mary's" John hiccupped, "I said I'd be there by half ten..."  
Sherlock threw his head back and let out a solid laugh, "Oh I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you like this." He stood up and embraced John spontaneously, ruffling his hair as he did so "Hurry back while the night is still young, John!"

John said his goodbyes again and unsteadily stumbled out of the door, leaving Sherlock and I sitting next to each other on the small sofa. He poured out another drink for each of us and failed to come up with rules for another game so he simply proposed, "Whoever downs it first wins."

He won. I finished closely behind him, the burn of vodka had completely vanished now (which was always a bad sign). He let out a burp of epic proportions making us both snigger immaturely.

There was a small silence after, and he turned to look at me. His piercing eyes were doubling up slightly. I found myself not unnerved by his icy stare today, so I looked back at him.

"You frustrate me." Sherlock stated bluntly, a serious expression clouding his face.

"What?" I asked, sticking my neck out and crossing my eyebrows in confusion.

Sherlock kept staring. "I can't read you. I barely know anything about you other than you work at a cafe that severely underpays you, you're a dog person, you're fairly untidy really, you have a secret drug habit and you're closed off as hell."

I let out a small laugh. "You don't need to know about me."

Sherlock swayed and rested his chin in his hand. "I know everything about everyone, it's what I do best. But you, you're so blank. You don't let anything show. Except maybe I've caught a couple of thoughts running through your head, once or twice."

"Oh yeah?" I bit my lip, hoping he didn't start spontaneously reading my mind. "I just shut people off without meaning to, I guess it's a defense."

"Why?" He asked immediately. "I don't like it. You haven't left my mind all week. I don't want it, I don't like it. This is probably why I've been unsuccessful in making progress with your case too." He exclaimed, his voice raising slightly.

I stared at him. Come again?

"It's you. I don't have time to keep guessing if you're thinking of me. I can't tell. This is so...trivial. Get out of my head."

Words failed me again at this point, so I acted on Dutch courage thanks to the spirits in my system, took his cheek in my hand and planted my lips on his. Giving him a slow, slight kiss. I pulled away, glancing at Sherlock whose eyes were still closed momentarily, and added, "Does that answer any of your questions?"


	3. Chapter 3

As I kissed him, I tasted the liquor and cigarettes on his breath. I reveled in it.

"I knew it." He almost growled before pushing himself towards me, pinning me down and passionately kissing me. My heart was pumping at an unbelievable pace, I could almost feel my pupils dilating as I ran my hands down his slender frame.

"Your heart rate has increased by over 30%, god you do want me." He whispered into my mouth, pinning me down harder, grinding against me violently.

"Take it off. All off." He commanded urgently. I fumbled at my shirt and struggled pulling it over my head. Sherlock uniformly unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled his dark trousers down before I could truly register what was even happening.

I sat on the sofa and he leaned over me, gazing intently at every inch of my body in front of him. It was almost as if he was scanning me, and if it weren't for the alcohol I would've felt hideously self-conscious.

Then all of a sudden, "No, stop." Sherlock froze and sat bolt upright. "This is wrong. Not with a client." I sighed, regretting my impulsivity yet again. It always landed me in terrible situations. The right thing to do would have been to let it go, but something about that man bought out the old personality I'd tried so hard to bury. I turned around to face him again and grabbed his tie, pulling his face millimeters away from my own,

"Sherlock, I see the way you look at me and I have no doubt you've done some deducing of your own. Don't try to bullshit me and pretend you couldn't tell, I know you can. You just wanted to me to prove it, didn't you? Hmm?"

Sherlock's lips broke into a subtle smirk, "Oh...you're good."

He hooked his finger around the top band of my thong and pinged it against my bare flesh; making me hungrier for more. I stood up on my toes and wrapped my arms around his naked torso.

I began to run my nails lightly down his back and kiss his jawline, leading down to his neck and lastly his prominent collarbones. I felt him tense up, his arms grasping my waist tightly, squeezing occasionally. "You want me Sherlock...don't you?" I whispered into the warm skin of his neck.

"You're all mine." He whispered back, tracing a finger down the center of my back.

I worked my way down his pale chest and stomach, lightly kissing and licking all the way along his midriff. I swiveled him around and shoved him hard onto the sofa, kneeling down between his open legs shortly after. I looked at him, his eyes were fixated on me.

I kissed his washboard stomach and glanced up at him properly, "I'll look after you." I kneeled on one leg next to him on the arm of the sofa, and kissed him, desire coursing through me. Running my hands ravenously through his now disheveled curls. I bit his lip causing the swell in his boxers underneath me to grow significantly. I ran my hand lightly down his chest all the way down to his boxers. I did the same and pinged the waistband of his boxers hard, so it snapped against his skin with a satisfying 'thwack'. He shuddered a little and I worked my way down again, kissing as I went along. Feverishly, I pulled down his boxers revealing Sherlock Holmes and his manhood in all their glory.

He was fully erect, so I didn't waste time and placed my lips gently around the tip. Sherlock gave out a small sigh and he grabbed my thick, dark wavy hair in his fist as I took as much of him in my mouth as I could. He pulled me up to look at him by my hair and pushed my lips to his lips for another long kiss.

"I'm going to make you come so hard you'll never forget." He snarled into my ear, before yanking my head to one side and giving my neck a long, lingering bite.

He stuck two of his long fingers into my pants, "Dripping." he stated, a small smirk playing on his defined cupid's-bow lips.

He slipped his fingers inside me and I let a small moan escape, which he caught. He pulled my hair back sharply again and looked into my eyes as I panted into his mouth. Toying with my clitoris and thrusting his fingers into me; driving me ridiculously close to climax.

I started tensing up, about to let go and he stopped instantly. He gripped my throat firmly and snarled "Nobody gave you permission to come...yet."

Sherlock shoved everything off the coffee table and pushed me onto it, spreading my legs as he did so. He climbed on top of me and placed one of his large fingers in my mouth.

I sucked it and let out a small cry as I felt him enter me, feeling all of his thickness inside of me. He slowly began to thrust in and out, guiding his finger in and out my mouth at the same time, forcing me to suck it.

Slowly, he led his wet fingers down to my womanhood to where he was having his way with me and began to rub my clitoris again. He began slowly and grew faster and faster, holding my neck with his other hand, thrusting and grinding harder each time. I tensed up again, feeling all my muscles tighten, oh god it was coming. "Please" I whimpered, "please let me come."

"Fine. Come for me." He growled in his silky baritone voice that resonated around the room.

With one final thrust that hit that sweet spot in the most perfect way, I felt myself tighten around him. Screaming his name in absolute ecstasy; I dug my nails into his back. After a few short, violent thrusts he pushed himself down on me and intensely kissed me and moaned into my neck. He held me tightly as he shortly after, finished inside of me.

I followed him into the bedroom and he softly pushed me down onto the bed, falling beside me as he did so. The last thing I remember was him thanking me, then giving me a kiss on the lips and the forehead gently, before I blacked out.


	4. Chapter 4

I was awoken rudely by the sunlight tearing straight in through the blinds, rubbing my eyes as I looked at my surroundings. 'What had even happened last night?' I thought to myself, or tried to through a banging headache. Oh that's right, a night of animalistic sex with Sherlock Holmes. I wondered how I was ever going to face this, I'd made a huge mistake. Sherlock Holmes of all people, the one person who could have helped and protected me. Now I'd probably lost my place at 221B Baker Street, lost my case and rendered everything horrifically awkward in the process. I was sprawled out on top of the duvet, wearing nothing but an old jumper; it wasn't mine and it smelled slightly like stale smoke. It must have been Sherlock's. However, before I could ponder last night's happenings and decide on how to approach the repercussions, John slipped in through the door without a single knock.

"Sherl, have you seen where I put my blue shirt? You know, the one I wore out the other day-" I made eye contact with him mid-sentence; he stopped abruptly.

He looked to the side and back at me again obviously at a loss for words.

"What happened?!" John exclaimed, surprise written all over his face.

"Shit, I think too many drinks were had and it won't happen again. I'm so sorry." I wasn't sure why I was apologizing, but I felt disrespectful and unprofessional on so many levels. Panicking slightly that I was going to get cast out into the big wide world again to deal with my stalker alone.

"No, not at all...Just wasn't quite expecting that to be fair."  
"Me neither, I can safely say. I am probably just as surprised as you are." I paused and asked before I could stop myself, "Is this it then? I've probably messed it all up now, haven't I?"

"I couldn't tell you, he's always full of surprises. However, he's a difficult man. Don't expect anything from him and you won't be disappointed." He furrowed his brow, before awkwardly looking around the room again and adding, "Umm, how about a tea? I could go and brew some and you could maybe put some clothes on or something..." John left the room awkwardly and all I could manage was to let out a sigh.

"Are you decent?" John called, this time knocking at the door. I'd thrown on a pair of pajamas I had found and kept the jumper on. Embracing the bagginess as I wrapped my arms around myself and clasped the wooly material. "Yeah, come in!" John meekly looked around the door before scuffling in holding two steaming mugs. He sat down next to me on the edge of the bed, handing me a mug. We both sat there in silence for a couple of seconds, each taking a nervous sip from our tea.

"Am I hallucinating?" is the phrase he had finally come out with. The bewilderment displayed across my face must have alarmed him a little; he added speedily "No offence, it's just it's not very…Sherlock. I thought he was acting odd lately, since you've been staying with us at least." I continued to look considerably offended. "No that's not what I meant. Look, you stay with us however long you need, you're in safe hands here."

"Thank you, you know how grateful I am." I smiled somberly, "I doubt I'll be around much longer though. I think I've probably outstayed my welcome."

John tilted his head, "No… no! You can stay as long as you need to. Sherlock isn't a childish man, what's happened has happened and he'll deal with it like the mature adult he is."

{Later that day}

"Hello John!" Sherlock collided through the door making my heart forget to beat for a second. I smiled up at him from the armchair, he glanced in my direction and continued to stomp through the apartment to where John was sitting, on his phone. My heart sank. "Sherlock isn't childish" my arse, I must have forgotten that he, like all the others, was still just nothing but a man.

Sherlock began rambling to John about how he successfully pissed off the whole of Scotland Yard that day, for a good five minutes without even a fleeting look at me.

"Sounds like you had a good day then?" I glanced up.

"Quite." Sherlock retorted bluntly before tossing his trench coat over the side of the sofa and vanishing into his room. John and I exchanged a disheartened look.

"You know how he is…" He stage-whispered toward me apologetically.

I nodded, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, starting to wonder whether I should go and at least attempt to speak to him. Perhaps apologize and blame it on the intoxication, even though I had nothing to be sorry for. In fact, I'd much rather have congratulated the man as after the night I had. He'd figuratively (and literally) reduced me to my knees. I hadn't stopped thinking about him the whole day, it was irrational. What was he doing to me? I felt like an infatuated 18 year old junkie again, in love with all the wrong things. And this was certainly not a feeling I embraced seeing as I'd worked so hard to better myself.

"Do you think I should go talk to him?" I asked John loudly enough for him to hear but quietly enough to remain discreet. John shook his head, "Leave him be, there's no point." I looked down sheepishly. "Listen, Laura, it's not you it's him." John tried to reassure me as he tentatively patted me on the shoulder. "Okay I know how cliché that sounds, but I promise you it's true. He'll be right as rain in no time, it'll be like nothing ever happened."

I know that statement should've made me feel somewhat better; it didn't.

"Thanks John, I'll be okay" I flashed an extremely unconvincing grin and on that same note he went to bed.

I walked over to the window and pulled it up opening it as far as it would go, I leant against the railings and lit up a cigarette. Looking out at the London streets below, watching all the unaware passersby get on with their lives, deliberating the thought that one of them was possibly my stalker.

I was too deep into my own thought bubble that I didn't hear footsteps behind me. An all too familiar, deep voice from behind me whispered "Mind if I borrow your lighter?"

I jumped slightly, an assortment of different thoughts and emotions flooding my mind as I turned to face Sherlock behind me holding an unlit cigarette.

"You should get your own lighter." I said, nonchalantly turning to look back out of the window and holding my lighter out to him.

He lit up the cigarette and leant on the railings next to me, his shoulders brushing against mine. Neither of us made eye contact and continued to gaze out into the night.

"Maybe."

"…Weren't you supposed to have quit?"

"Yes." He said as he blew a perfectly formed smoke ring into the chilly night air. "But the nicotine patches simply didn't do it for me."

"I will forever wonder what does do it for you then."

"I can name something." Sherlock flicked his cigarette butt and stared a hole through me with his intensely penetrating eyes. He took my cheeks in his hands and gave me a long, fervent kiss and with a spin walked out the front door. Leaving me unquestionably stunned and speechless.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day I packed my things to move out of 221B Baker St. I figured I felt safe enough to return to my little apartment after nearly three weeks there.

During my time there, I realized a few things. One of them being that I'm not like your average, run of the mill woman. However hard I try to be, I simply am not. I don't get scared easily, after the things I've experienced in my past it would take a lot to shock me now. I had done some thinking and the true reason I had consulted Sherlock was not out of fear…but curiosity. Furthermore the things Sherlock Holmes had made me feel over the past few days were far more terrifying than simply being afraid of a stalker. And seeing as Mr. Holmes was proving redundant in terms of solving my case, causing me more agro than he was worth; I decided to return home.

"I'm almost sad to see you go." John slightly pouted as I put on my leather jacket, making sure I'd collected all my things.

"Yes dear, you must come back and visit us lot at Baker Street now and then." Mrs. Hudson added, "I don't know what you've done to our Sherlock though. He's been so strange lately, he must think highly of you, love. I don't think I've ever seen him lend his clothes to someone!"

I looked down and realized I was wearing his jumper again, god it was comfy.

"Oh of course, Mrs. H. Thank you for putting up with me all this time, you too John." I gave each of them a warm squeeze, trying to bury the feeling of disappointment that Sherlock wasn't around. "You've been an absolute star. Uh…when Sherlock resurfaces tell him I say thank you and goodbye. It's been great."

"Certainly, see you later Laura." Called John as I trundled down the stairs.

To tell you the truth, I was expecting more of my stalker. As I returned home to only one note stuck through my letterbox and nothing else. The note said, "You'll never guess, don't bother." In scrawled handwriting, dating back to more than a week or so ago. I tossed it in the bin without much of a second thought and did a house check, making sure to close every window and lock every door before going to bed. I know I should have felt more vulnerable being back alone, susceptible to probable danger but I was okay.

I hated to admit it, but Sherlock was still playing on my mind. Of course he was, with the baffling mind games he'd played with me and the amazing sex he'd given me. Yet I probably wasn't even an inkling of a thought in his mind.

I popped two valium capsules and two codeine pills that I had set aside in my rainy day stash before I climbed into bed and experienced probably the most comfortable sleep I've had for a long time.

My eyelids felt like they were cemented together as I attempted to open them after I'd groggily awoken. I scrabbled around for my phone under my pillow and checked the time, it was 2pm. Well shit, I'd missed my first shift back at work after claiming extended holiday time off. I decided not to bother going in, they wouldn't miss me that much if I missed one more day surely? Eventually I summoned up enough strength to finally sit up; I heard a crunch and felt something dig into my stomach. A little thrown, I reached under the baggy jumper and felt a piece of paper slipped under the waistline of my pants.

'Oh for god's sake, what now?' I murmured, tearing it open frantically.

"Where did you go?" It read.

I know I logically should have been more terrified than irritated, but that wasn't the case. This madman, this lurker, intruder now, had evidently been surveying my every move at the house. Knowing when I leave and come back, and he'd clearly observed my return. Assuming it was okay to gain my attention by pulling stunts such as writing petty notes and breaking into my house.

The thought of texting Sherlock to let him know that my house had been broken into again, crossed my mind but I decided against it. Yet two minutes later exactly, my iPhone played the message tone.

"Any updates on the stalker? – SH"

What was this man trying to do to me? I thought he would just drop it all. I was wrong.

"Small break in with a note. Nothing serious." I replied. Less than 30 seconds later I received- "I'll be over in 10 – SH"

I staggered out of bed, uncoordinated was an understatement. Putting a large amount of makeup on with minimum amount of mistakes while simultaneously fighting the opiate and benzo hangover was not an easy task. Before I'd even had a chance to change out of the jumper and pants the doorbell rang.

I reluctantly went to open it, seeing the tall individual looming outside the brushed glass.

I invited him inside, trying my best to cover my knickers with the loose jumper as I did so.

"Nice jumper." Sherlock remarked with a small grin as he made himself at home and began to boil my kettle. "So how is the… secret admirer situation?"

I half-heartedly told him what had been happening, not bothered, assuming that he wouldn't be too interested anyway. Wrong again. An expression of somewhat genuine concern flashed across his face.

"You shouldn't have left." He eventually said quietly.

"Yeah well I would rather not have continued to be an awkward burden."  
"You weren't" He snapped. "Listen, I know I'm pretty good at explaining things. I'm just not the greatest at explaining myself. I apologize, Laura." He took my hand in his and proposed "Let me take you to dinner tonight?"

I raised an eyebrow, dinner…with Sherlock Holmes? Was this a trap? Nevertheless, I let myself down. I was so weak and the butterflies in my stomach were much stronger so, against all judgment, I agreed.


	6. Chapter 6

Shortly after Sherlock had left, I bounced around excitedly for about five minutes like a hyper schoolgirl with a petty crush. All memory of the fact I had genuinely been broken into the night before had flown out the window and all that mattered to me was that Sherlock hadn't casted me away and had independently granted me the time of day to come around and invite me to dinner. Surely that should mean something? The high functioning sociopath with only two or three friends in the world, processes the word 'love' as a chemical imbalance, has barriers built higher than the great wall of China- asking me out to dinner? Or maybe I was just being blindingly stupid. Maybe this was all a big ruse, another one of his prolonged mind games. Dismissing the thought from my mind I began to sort myself out, feeling somewhat less groggy than I did earlier.

"Baker Street, 7:30pm. See you there – SH" was the text I received while desperately flailing around trying to get ready. 'This one or that one' I muttered to myself as I stood in front of the full length mirror in my bedroom, holding two dresses out in front of my small frame. Anyone would think they weren't feeding me at 221B Baker Street. 'Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness' I mumbled to my reflection in the mirror. It held truth; I felt as if I was losing the plot. I should have just killed my curiosity and never have contacted Sherlock Holmes. Eventually I decided on the skintight black dress (not that I had many curves to show off) and began the long and arduous process of applying makeup.

By the time I had finished primping I looked like a new woman. I'd actually made an effort to look anything above average for the first time in years, I wanted to stand out; Sherlock was making me long to be more than just normal in so many ways. I'd tied my long brunette curls into a tight up do, spent far too long perfecting my smoky-eye look and even brought my cream heels out. I hadn't worn any form of stilettos for a long, long time. I wasn't entirely sure why I was making such an effort seeing as there was a slim chance he'd even appreciate it; oh sure he'd notice but it was typical Sherlock to pick holes at an attempt to look attractive.

'Well this is it' I thought as I psyched myself up to lift the knocker at 221B Baker Street; filled with all the same nerves as I'd experienced the first time I'd found myself outside that same front door. I shivered and cursed myself for not bringing a coat. 7:45pm on the dot, thought I'd be slightly fashionably late (public transport is terrible in London), this is it. I knocked twice and stood back bracing myself.

The black door swung open shorty after and I was greeted with a big hug and a smile by none other than Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello dear! Well isn't this a lovely surprise? Come in, come in." She fussed as she pulled me inside and guided me up the stairs. "Look who it is, John!" John looked up from his newspaper at me standing in the doorway, "Doesn't Laura look lovely?" John's mouth parted slightly.

"Yeah, I mean, wow. You look great. What's the occasion?" John stammered and I looked back at him briefly with wide eyes.

"Uh…well..." I started, trying to kill time hoping Sherlock would burst through the door and make an elaborate excuse up and maybe then I wouldn't have looked stupid by saying "Sherlock and I… are just going out tonight." Both Mrs. Hudson and John simultaneously raised their eyebrows looking considerably shocked.

"Um, Laura." John cleared his throat, "I haven't seen Sherlock since last night. I'm not sure when he'll be back. Did he say he'd meet you here?" My heart sank. No, I couldn't be getting stood up. No no no. This is what I hated most about Sherlock; the sheer uncertainty while being around him. You didn't know what he was thinking, feeling or doing at any time.

Mrs. Hudson broke the silence by announcing, "Well isn't that nice. Sherly going on a date which such a pretty girl! Who would've thought it?" she grinned "I'm sure he'll turn up soon."

I forced a smile and sat down, trying extremely hard not to feel defeated.

Approximately half an hour and two cigarettes later; Sherlock turned up.

"Oh hello, you do love being flighty don't you." I greeted him sarcastically as he stood a little awkwardly at the doorframe.

"Sorry, lots of traffic." He offhandedly replied, "Shall we?"

"You two have fun!" Mrs. Hudson waved, "Aw look at them, John."

I said my goodbyes, grabbed my purse and stood up; trying to keep my balance while wearing my ridiculous stilettos. I should not have made so much effort for nothing, I felt so embarrassed. As soon as the door closed behind us, Sherlock told me to go down and wait outside for him as he'd forgotten something indoors. I did as I was told yet I was growing slightly impatient, after all he was already 45 minutes late.

It didn't take him too long to step outside again; this time with a single red rose held out to me in his hand.

"Before you say anything." He began as I took the rose, "It was predictable, I know."

"No, I love it."

"Sorry for being late. You look incredible." He smiled and held out his arm.

"It's okay, you're forgiven." I wrapped my arm through his willingly and he hailed a taxi. I don't think there was ever anything harder than staying angry at Sherlock Holmes.


	7. Chapter 7

After a short taxi ride in which Sherlock spoke through the whole of it about how he'd never trust another another cabbie again; we arrived in South Kensington. I loved South Ken; the extravagant townhouses, the even more extravagant shops and boutiques. As a little girl I'd always asked my grandmother to take me shopping with her there. Sherlock held the door open for me and I tried my hardest not to wobble seeing as I never was particularly gifted at walking in heels.  
We walked arm in arm to an inviting little Italian bistro that, despite its quaintness, looked like it cost an arm and a leg to eat at.  
"Mr. Holmes, what a lovely surprise!" An enthusiastic waiter greeted us at the door with a great smile on his face and two menus. "Oh company today, I see…table for two?"  
I felt Sherlock give my arm a light squeeze as we were led to a table for two by a large fireplace.  
"And for drinks, sir?" Sherlock didn't even scan the menu and asked for an expensive sounding French wine; leaving me wondering how many times he'd visited this restaurant and whether he was alone when he did. I could definitely see him and John coming here together; seems like it was their kind of thing.

After an extremely filling three course meal complete with (a fair amount of) tasteful wine (two bottles) and surprisingly normal conversation between us; Sherlock waved the waiter over to ask for the bill.  
"You know, Sherlock…" I gently nudged his leg under the table, "you never fail to surprise me."  
He slowly looked up at me, a smile playing on his lips, "A life without the element of surprise is boring."  
"But you lead a life with very few surprises, you're always one step ahead of everything."  
"You surprised me tonight." I flashed him a puzzled look, "You agreed to go to dinner with me. I don't ask many people to dinner, so I never knew what to expect but I didn't assume it would be a 'yes'."  
He paid the bill and we left the restaurant; hit by London's brisk night air as we stepped outside.  
"So how does a night at the Ritz sound to you?" Sherlock questioned in passing.  
"Well you really are spoiling me tonight, aren't you?" I coyly smiled, wrapping my arms around myself in a futile attempt to stay warm. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to apologize."  
"I suppose you could say it's an attempt." As we carried on walking, he placed his signature trench coat over my shoulders commenting on how he'd noticed my goose pimples.

Being Sherlock Holmes had its perks; we'd been given the executive suite at the Ritz hotel for a night completely free of charge. I ran inside and threw myself on the king sized bed, embracing the tipsy feeling. Sherlock opened up the complimentary bottle of champagne and flung himself on the bed alongside me. He then sparked a cigarette and handed me one, "Smoking inside? That's naughty." I said, lighting up my own. I took a deep puff, feeling the alcohol rush to my head.  
"Is it safe to say I am forgiven now?" He asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.  
"I never said you were." I demurely replied, avoiding eye contact.  
"You know I can read you like a book." He rolled onto his side, edging closer towards me.  
"Is that so?" I turned to face him; our faces dangerously close, our eyes staring holes through each other.  
"Flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, noticeably suggestive body language, defenses down…" His voice drifted off a little getting a little deeper. "…you're licking your lips, pushing your chest out, shortened breath-"  
"Oh shut up, Sherlock Holmes." I pushed him into the bed and climbed on top of him, delicately massaging his chest through his white shirt.  
He looked up at me with a defeated expression on his face, a small half- grin dancing across his slightly parted lips.  
"It's not every night you get asked out by Sherlock Holmes." I hitched up my dress, revealing the thigh high stockings I was wearing avec suspender belt. "Can't a girl get excited?" Sherlock scanned my body, his expression similar to that of a schoolboy who'd just seen his first pair of boobs.

He attempted to slide his hands up my body and reach for my breasts; I stopped him and held his wrists down beside his head.  
"Tut-tut can't keep your hands off me, can you?" I whispered into his mane of dark curls. He extended his neck and closed his eyes, his lips almost begging to be kissed. I leapt at the opportunity, leant in and let him feverishly kiss me. I couldn't resist grabbing a handful of his thick hair as he pulled me ever closer.  
I pulled off my dress urgently; revealing the matching lingerie set I'd taken the trouble to wear. Unexpectedly Sherlock raised his hand and spanked my arse hard, leaving a handprint and a shiver that ran all the way up my spine. I reacted and bit his bottom lip just as hard as reciprocation.  
"Oh you've been terribly bad." Sherlock jeered. "Sherlock Holmes- the man who doesn't feel…look what you've done." He slapped my behind again; making me woozy from a mixture of sheer pain and pleasure. He then ever so gently ran his hands down the smooth skin on my back and he looked at me in a way I hadn't seen before. "What I said earlier though, I meant it."  
"What was that?" I purred into his neck; reaching up and tenderly brushing my cheek with the back of his hand, he replied, "You look beautiful. That's all."  
After that, I wasn't quite sure whether I was dreaming or not.

I slipped my hand down under his waistband and started softly toying with his manliness; forcing him to let out a frustrated growl. I smirked and closed my eyes, taking in the scent of his skin; the faint smell of smoke and faded aftershave. I always had such a weakness for necks, especially men's necks…how the muscles and tendons looked when a man was straining, squirming in pleasure. Just as Sherlock was doing at that moment (but trying very hard not to), I kissed him again, open-mouthed, hard and rhythmic; he exhaled shortly and sharply which told me he was extremely enjoying himself. Sherlock pulled me as close as he possibly could as I slid my hand down to his crotch again. He let out a long, throaty moan which turned me on ridiculously, making my hunger grow. He'd quit holding back and started thrusting into my hand, making the occasional grunt. Damn, he really knew how to turn a girl on. So much for 'inexperience'.

Within minutes all of our clothes were strewn all over the floor again. The animalistic hunger at the bottom of my stomach had grown, rendering me desperate. I picked up the pace, creating friction, distinctly feeling him become very hard, very fast. I lowered myself steadily down onto him; guiding his now throbbing cock into me. Sherlock let out another drawn-out, lengthy moan from his throat and let out a soft whimper of my own. "Moan for me again." I panted as I lifted myself up and down, riding him forcefully; his hands were placed firmly on my arse guiding me. I grinded against him hungrily after every thrust, leaning down; our bodies squashed together, feeling the sweat against each other's skin. I tugged on his hair as he flipped me onto my side and began pushing himself into me aggressively. He slid his hand across my stomach, slicked with sweat, and down to my pulsating clit.  
"Oh Sherlock!" I moaned as I reached behind and wrapped my hand around the back of his neck; ravenously pulling his face towards mine, our tongues moving in perfect synchronisation.

He rubbed my clitoris gently but fast, in small circular motions as he kissed and sucked my neck causing me to wriggle, my groans getting noticeably louder.  
"Oh Sherlock!" I cried as I gave his curls another harsh tug and pushed my arse into him.  
"Say my name again." Sherlock growled and gave my neck a small bite. I did as I was told, of course and as I did I began to tense up, waves of sheer pleasure coursing through my body. "Sherlock!" I yelped again; he panted, his thrusts growing. shorter and harder.  
"Oh Laura..please-"grabbing my waist tight, his deep voice almost a growl.  
He let out a long, deep moan that almost shook the bed as he came; his arms wrapped protectively around me as he did.

We lay on top of the lavish bed sheets, naked and sweaty, our bodies entwined. For a good hour we had engaged in sloppy, sensual, slightly violent but above all, absolutely mind-blowing sex. I'd also successfully made Sherlock beg for mercy…twice. Eat your heart out, Irene Adler.


	8. Chapter 8

This time I hadn't passed out straight after Sherlock had his way with me. It was an achievement after the amount of energy I'd just exerted, the endorphins and sheer adrenaline kept me awake though. Almost half an hour had passed and we weren't showing any signs of moving from the bed. I would never have thought Sherlock had an affectionate bone in his body. The closest thing to affection I'd ever seen him display was towards John; no wonder all of John's girlfriends always had a complex.

After a period of comfortable silence I broke it by nonchalantly saying, "You're not inexperienced at all, are you?"  
"No, quite the opposite it would seem." He flashed me a cheeky half-smirk that could make any woman weak at the knees.  
"Mr Sherlock Holmes, I've always thought you were a lot of things but a womanizer was definitely not one of them." We both laughed; he continued running his fingertips up and down the length of my bare midriff.  
"I personally wouldn't go as far as 'womanizer' but I do know a thing or two about how to please one of these 'woman' creatures that are apparently so foreign to me."  
"I can vouch for that." I said. He gently kissed me on the mouth.

Suddenly there was a sombre vibe radiating from him. "Can I ask something...maybe a little personal?" Sherlock asked; lying on his side next to me, his pale yet toned arm lightly resting across my chest. I nodded intrigued to find out the question.  
"Do you remember anything about the 8th of November 2008?" I opened my eyes fully and glanced at him disconcertedly. "Huh? I can barely remember what Id eaten for dinner last night, let alone a random date six years ago."  
"I thought as much." He said with a sniff. A few minutes passed in silence again before I asked out of curiosity, "Aren't you going to tell me why you asked?" Sherlock let out a sigh of clear discontentment.  
"I suppose I should... Do you recall Roxy's off Edgware Road?" A thousand memories sprang to mind after he spoke those words.  
"Yes, I used to sing at that piano bar..." Some of the best and worst times of my life were had at that particular dive bar. I was growing ever more curious to know where this was leading.  
"I know. I saw you there all those years ago." I looked at him with wide eyes, there was no way.

"November 8th. I ended up stopping there for a drink late that night on the way home from being on the case." He let out an unconvincing laugh, where was he going with this exactly? "I walked in and you were just standing there on stage in that...black dress, that was barely long enough to cover your arse, might I add. The one with the laced bodice." I could remember that exact dress, I was slowly starting to recall it all yet all I could do was sit there speechless. "You looked melancholic standing up there, even though you were signing beautifully; it was haunting all the same. The way you looked and sang compelled me to stay. I'm glad I did. I congratulated you after your show as you came off stage, you smiled and thanked me then disappeared outside. I followed you hoping to maybe get another look at you, I was fascinated; I just wanted to know your life story." I was in a state of stunned silence. He couldn't have been...He simply couldn't have. "I was held up inside by some drunks making fun of my hair but I shook them off as quickly as possible and went looking for you outside. You weren't there so I looked around the side alleys, maybe you'd have gone for a cigarette who knows, but I looked. And there you were..." He trailed off, appearing somewhat disturbed. "...slumped against the wall, your skin colourless and you were just zoning in and out of consciousness."  
He was telling the whole truth; I'd recalled everything now. "It was you." I whispered.  
"Yes." I wasn't sure how to react; I knew I was so inexplicably magnetized to Sherlock for a particular reason. And this was it. Sherlock Holmes had saved my life.


	9. Chapter 9

Tears began to brim at my eyes. "It was you…" I whispered again.

I remembered everything so lucidly all of a sudden it was almost as if it were panning out again. Right in front of my eyes, there I was… Slouched against a cold brick wall in an alleyway. It didn't feel so cold to me though, I couldn't even feel the stony cobbles underneath my bare thighs. My dress was hitched up so there was nothing left to the imagination; I didn't care one bit. At the time all I'd wanted was my hit, so I'd escaped and injected the brown liquid-bliss right into the crook of my elbow. At the time it felt like nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, just an extra strong hit. I didn't feel any different than usual at first, then I was overcome by a pounding headache. Then came the struggle to breathe, I began to take big gasps of air. It felt like I was drowning but at the same time, I was drowning peacefully. I was in a complete state of acceptance and comfort that I was perhaps not going to make it through this time. My vision started fading and the sounds around me began to sound as if they were underwater. I occasionally snapped back to reality when I heard the sporadic car horn coming from the streets nearby.

I was bought back to a semi-conscious state when I heard an unfamiliar voice shouting at me. I wondered what they wanted. I squinted (trying to force my eyes not to shut), trying to make out the dark figure looming above me who seemed to be yelling for some reason, holding my head up.

Next thing I know I am in an unfamiliar place on an unfamiliar bed, the middle of my chest hurting something awful. Next to me on the bed, holding my hand was the tall, dark figure I'd seen in the alley. My vision was too blurred to make out any features or great detail and I was so weak I could barely move any part of my body. I tried to ask what had happened but I couldn't even force the words out of my mouth. I could vaguely make out a deep voice softly speaking and occasionally humming to me; I felt safe. It was saying things along the lines of, "You'll be okay, I'm here…" and "You're safe now." Contented, I decided that it would feel okay to close my eyes for a short while again.

The next time I opened my eyes I was in a hospital bed, I had no idea what was happening so I panicked and asked the nurse frantically what was wrong.

"You overdosed on heroin. You're very lucky to be alive, Laura. A man brought you over here to ensure you regain full health… after he'd executed the correct measures to save your life."

I felt sick to my stomach, I'd had a brush with death and a mystery man had taken it upon himself to save me. "Who was he?"  
The nurse bluntly replied, "He never told us, sorry. Now get as much rest as possible." And ever since that day, the fact that I had no clue know who my rescuer was haunted me terribly. I owed them my life.

{POV Switch}

Surely enough, there she was, slumped against a dark wall in an even darker alley. An empty syringe cast aside next to her. My heart sank; I knew what this was. I knew it all too well. I ran towards her and cupped her cheeks in my hands, trying to observe the state of her pupils; they were tiny pinpricks. Her skin was pallid, her eyelids and lips turning blue and bruised-like; it was as if the colour and life was seeping out from her body in front of me. Her breathing shallow and labored. I knew I needed to act fast or else she would die, I didn't have time to call and wait for an ambulance. I was perfectly experienced in what to do in times of a fatal overdose, there was no need to waste time by calling the paramedics. I began to raise my voice in an attempt to snap her into reality and keep her somewhat conscious. I lifted her up off the filthy pavement and carried her to the main road, urgently hailing the nearest taxi.

I ran up the stairs and gently placed her on my bed in the recovery position, tucking her hair behind her ears. I began to rub her sternum vigorously attempting to rouse her as much as I possibly could. Failing that, I emptied my cabinets for my emergency Naloxone (opioid antagonist drug) stash. I hurriedly ripped the small vial out of the wrapper and filled a sterile syringe with the clear liquid. I pressed the needle deep into her arm and dispensed the whole contents of the syringe into her. After another two attempts with the Naxolone; the young girl took in a huge gasp of air, her eyes half opened.  
I spoke to her softly; trying my hardest to sound reassuring and not so much heartbroken at the fact such a beauty had fallen into the clutches of hideous substance abuse. After a while of sitting by her side and stroking her hand, her colour started slowly returning to her face and her breathing evened out also.

As soon as she was in a fit enough state, I took her straight to the hospital in which I left her to fully recover under the surveillance of trained medics. I left without saying a proper goodbye as she was still so drowsy she would not have remembered anyway. Relieved, I turned out of her ward and disappeared from her life without a trace.


End file.
